The Lion, Not The Cat

Orange cones everywhere just outside my mind.
You know the feeling. I know you do.
Tiptoe into the baby's room.
Mind the blinking caution sign.
Take a small supply of scissors, tape, nail clippers, gun.
A boy scout is always getting ready.
There's a deep hole someone can fall into.
Pleasure is a real thing. It can put out your eye.
Dancing? Yes, but it can lead to madness.
I didn't read it in a book somewhere.

I spill. Nothing's safe around me, you're the same.
I don't steal but I do my best not to fumble,
especially in the last quarter of the big game.

So this is where I transition to the part about the felines.
They sat high and low and purred and rubbed and swatted.
Some were eager, some were tired, they all wanted out.
I left without one, but I enjoyed them immensely.
Soon I saw a lion in the raw, but couldn't own one.
I wanted that black Puma in an early morning hour.

When I was young they had a little playland
in the park full of young Mom's and their babies.
A little rollercoaster there to prepare us for the real one.
I want the meat not the photo
A lion's not a pet.
A reflection's less than yummy
though you can learn from it.

You can ride off into the sunset.
It's the perfect place for that.
No sense to match footsteps
of better men who've never made a vow.
I can walk in fresh furrows.
You bet your butt, the farm.
Life's a gamble.
Every path can lead to suicide.
I never want to see your Grand Canyon.
It makes me nervous, so there's a war inside.
I'm tired now.
I'm going back to bed.
Listen...you can hear the lion in the wind.